


Stubborn Love

by theimaginesyouneveraskedfor



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 08:25:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12032001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor/pseuds/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor
Summary: Thranduil has fallen for a commoner but is kept from her by his royal duty as Prince of Mirkwood. Separated by rank and time, the reader and Thranduil must confront the love they once had.





	Stubborn Love

## The Prince of Mirkwood

The dark sable of the stallion stood dark again the lush green of the grassy field sprawled alongside the stables of Mirkwood. The short bristle of you brush left subtle streaks across the coat of the stallion and the sunlight lent the beast a glossy sheen. You were lulled by the repetitive motion of your arm and the steady breath of the calm horse. You raised your other hand to run your fingers the length of its long nose and gave a content sigh.

You smiled at the unusually tame creature as he brushed his tail across his legs. The stallion, aptly named Maelstrom for his temper, rarely allowed any but his master near. It seemed that he only bowed under the will of royalty, though you were a peculiar exception. Besides his rider, the prince, you were the only allowed close enough to touch. Others who dared to approach were deterred by a nasty kick or a vicious bite and had long relented in their efforts to do so.

The black steed leaned his head into the palm of your hand and closed his black eyes against the warmth of the sun.

“I never expect it but I think he may just prefer you to me,” A deep voice came from behind the horse as if from its very own lips, “Though I cannot say I’d blame him for it.”

“Your grace,” You pulled your hand away from Maelstromo pay obeisance to the prince of Mirkwood, “You are early this day.”

“Early,” Thranduil puzzled, “A prince should determine his own schedule,” He offered a rarely-spared smile, “I’d say I have come at just the right time to find you here thus.”

“Should I wonder at the reason for your visit?” You stroked the stallion’s nose as he grazed his teeth against your sleeve, struggling to regain the attention turned upon his master, “I should inform you we stable hands have not the freedom such as royalty, my prince.”

“Then I grant you pardon of your duties until I see fit that you should return to them,” He commanded with a lithe wave, “And this beast? Has he caused you any despair?”

“Not me, my prince,” You ran your fingers through the animal’s silky mane, “Though no other can get close enough to groom him but myself…and he is well overdue for it.”

“He is an admiral creature,” Thranduil lifted his chin as he considered his steed warily, “Though I have requested a more amiable creature from my father, but he seems just as obstinate at this beast.”

“I would say the horse is well-suited to you…in a manner,” You dropped your hand once more and the stallions accepted his dismissal with a snort, lowering his head to chew the grass noisily, “He is not so bad as many would presume.”

“Oh,” The prince slanted a brow coyly, “And am I not so bad as many would presume?”

“Only when there is none around to witness, my prince,” You returned slyly.

“I wonder,” He paused as he reached into his turquoise robe, just above his heart, “How deplorable I should seem in your eyes in a mere moment. I fear you should by choking on your own words.”

“Could you change my tidings so easily?” You teased, “And your own bearing?”

“Y/N,” He slithered as he pulled forth a small painted box from beneath his silked robe, “I fear you’ve misunderstood my bearing…as I’ve protested anon. How should I prove it to you but with more than words.”

“And, as I have told you anon, I cannot accept your gifts, my prince, “You edged away from him guiltily.

“Y/N,” He seized your hand, turning it over to place the small box in it, pressing your fingers around it with his own, “Please, open it.”

“My prince,” You begged as he released your hand with an expectant gaze. You sighed and looked with dread to the polished lid of the box, “I…” You glanced up at him once more but his hopeful expression silenced you.

You reluctantly forced open the hinged box to reveal a finely cut square of amethyst upon a silver band. You gasped and snapped shut the box, holding it out to him frantically. Never had you been offered a gift so lovely. You shook your head desperately, afraid of what risk your acceptance would welcome.

“Another gift I cannot accept, finer than any,” You steadied your voice, “I am but a stablehand. A servant, not some gentlewoman of the court. What use have I of such baubles? How could I dare accept such fare from a prince?”

“What must I do to show you I am true to you, Y/N, for surely I could not feign the stutter which overtakes my heart whenever you are near,” He beseeched, “I bare myself to you every day and yet you will not relent in your denial of what I know you feel for me in turn.”

You sighed as you thought of how the prince’s demeanour had changed towards you in the last year. You had known him near your whole life but he hadn’t always been so fond of you. As late, he frequented the stables overly much, presenting you gift after gift which you were forced to turn away out of propriety.  _How could you, a servant, accept such trinkets from the heir of Mirkwood?_

The first gift he had tried to offer had been a silken hair tie, of little use, even in your single braid as it would quickly become soiled in your work. Next, a pair of lambskin gloves, too delicate to be worn in the stables and too pretty to grace your common hands. A satin gown followed and a set of beaded slippers; too many expensive gifts of which you had no need.

You recalled the king and his ever-present frown. Had he known of his son’s dalliance with a commoner, he would grow even more unpleasant. His anger, however would not touch his son, but you alone. Thranduil did not realize that the danger he was untouched by could only be unleashed upon you.

“True affection down not come in silk or gold,” You forced him to take the box harshly, “They come of the heart. Such sentiment cannot be of material means, my prince.”

“My prince,” He scoffed like a child denied a sweet, “Can we not set aside our titles for even a moment? Can I not be only Thranduil? I’d hear no other name from your sweet lips.”

“If one were to hear us speaking thus…” You peaked at the stable, searching for the other stablehands.

“Let them hear!” The prince nearly shouted, “Can’t you see I don’t care who knows of my love? You are all I think of, common or not.”

“It cannot be,” The felt the knot forming in your stomach; if only you were brave enough to say what you truly felt, “Your father would–”

“My father will not be king forever,” Thranduil declared, “When the throne is mine, so too shall you.”

“Even if you were king, you cannot make a commoner queen…The court would never accept me,” At that moment, your illicit love weighed heavier than ever. It was as if you had been running from the reality of your station and it had finally caught up to you, standing over you as some sinister apparition, “We’ve both let this illusion stray too far.”

“You cannot lie to yourself forever, Y/N,” The prince insisted, “And you cannot lie to my heart. My father may rule Mirkwood but he will not rule my heart,” He gripped the box tightly to his chest as he swore, “I shall prove it to all of you. I will not be ruled by false lords and underhanded courtiers, I shall follow love.”

“If only it could be so,” You lamented, “If only,” Your shoulders slumped as you turned away to hide your tears, “We are young and swept up in a fantasy that can never be. We can dream but we cannot change our destiny.”

“I will,” Thranduil avowed, “We will.”

* * *

You recalled the first time you had met the prince. You had been little more than an elfling and he a spindly legged adolescent, trailing his father like an errant duckling. Even then, despite his narrow shoulders and paper-like skin, he had a sense of defiance about him. Though he feared his father, he looked to him with a glint of spite.

When his eyes had first turned in your direction, it was as if he had not even seen you.  _Why would he?_  You were the mousy daughter of one of the hundreds of palace servants and you blended in easily to the background. So spurned were you by the glimmer in his eyes, the haughtiness in his step, that you plotted to catch his attention.

As on any day, you accompanied your mother on her rounds and with the prince still irksome in your mind, you thanked the fates that she was charted to clean the upper chambers. The higher floors of the palace included the royal chambers and upon entering that of the heir, you hid a smile of delight. You did not know how you would get him, but you would.

Your mother distracted herself with stripping the bedcovers and you pretended to dust the carved desk at the other end of the room. Quill, parchment, and inkwell were set out precisely to one side and to another, an unused crystal goblet. Looking over your shoulder to make sure your mother was still bent over the edge of the mattress, you devised your scheme carefully.

You uncorked the inkwell and dipped a finger inside, rubbing a line along the inner rim of the goblet behind the wrought gold lip. None would see it unless they were inspecting for poison and the prince was not so important yet. Replacing the stopper in the well, you wiped your finger on the inside of your apron, though you knew the ink would stain your flesh regardless.

It was not until the next day that you were assured of your success. Prince Thranduil trailed behind his father as ever, though his shoulders were not so straight and his eyes were clouded with shame. His thin lips were a dark shade of blue, as if he gorged on blackberries, and you chuckled despite yourself.

He looked up at the sound of your giggle and you held up your finger, revealing the inky splotch and igniting a fire behind his eyes. His embarrassment bled away and he pushed back his shoulders, squinting at you derisively. You bowed as he passed and he mouthed two simple words to you, “Just wait.”

The memory, even long after, set you to laughter. The look of shock and anger, his stained lips, the realization of being duped. No other would have dared to trick the prince and so you feared his retaliation might be more than just a trick of his own. You had not thought of the consequences but it was to come of little more than an unusual friendship between heir and servant.

The prince would chance to find you at your work from then on. On the first such occasion, he asked your name before proceeding to gloat of his royal privilege. Even as he threatened to have you punished for your trick or to have you assigned to the misery of the laundries, you gave no hint of fear. Finding you unaffected by your own lowly rank, the prince’s grin fell and he went away further vexed.

He returned and in every “your prince” you uttered, he was once more perplexed. His visits grew more frequent and less nefarious. Whether you were spreading new rushes along the walkways or scrubbing the steps, he found you and his malice turned to courtesy. Both of you, in the singular monotony of your respective duties, found comfort in the unexpected friendship, growing up alongside each other though your lives diverged.

It was only by Thranduil’s favour that you had come to work in the stables, having passingly mentioned your affinity for the equine. You were thankful that he had arranged your new duties but you knew the danger in overt displays between you. And when his intentions had changed, when passion has coloured his words, you were even more worried by his recklessness.

Though it made your chest clench to think of him, you were too afraid to confess your love in turn.

You pondered your dilemma as you stared at the tawny mare which had appeared in the stables overnight. Alin, another stable hand had greeted you with a folded leaf of parchment, passing on the note you could not read. It was an oversight but affirmed the valley which stood between you and Thranduil. You had learned but a few words and so you did your best to decipher the letter, getting little sense from it.

“…Y/N…love…heart…Thranduil”

Your illiteracy made you feel even more inferior and you tucked away the letter before you could dwell too long on it.

You turned your attention back to the mare. This was the only gift you were tempted to accept but knew you could not. She was an elegant creature; her golden mane, pale amber eyes, and long elegant nose. You ran your fingers delicately along her neck before rescinding your hand at the sound of distant hooves.

You cringed at the thought of refusing the gift when you next saw the prince but forgot you dread for the scene approaching from afar. A train of liveried horses marched across the walkway which led to the gates of Mirkwood palace, a carriage among the foreign parade.

“I didn’t know we were expecting visitors,” You muttered to Alin, “We’ve not much room given our new steed.”

“Aye, the king was abrupt in his announcement,” Alin walked ahead of you to the front of the stables, “An elvish lady and her court,” He sighed, “The prince should marry. He’s waited far too long as it is…”

The rest of his words were lost in the paralysis which overcame you. Marry? You had forced yourself to choke down the reality of your standing with the prince but faced with the flesh of it, you found it hard to swallow. Or breath. You felt as if you had been struck and you nearly stumbled as you backed away blindly.

As the carriage neared, you turned and fled towards the palace, panic colouring your vision. You barreled through the corridors, oblivious to the eyes of servants and nobles intrigued by your graceless flight. You were out of breath as you hammered on the prince’s door, having not even thought to consider he may not be in.

Thranduil opened the door and you pushed inside. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You had never been in his chambers while he was present, you had only ever had the grace of cleaning up after him. Any caution had flown away with your dreams of the prince.

“What–”

“I knew it would come to this, that you would marry,” Your voice quavered, “I just didn’t think so soon. And oh, she must be beautiful…and noble. I’ve been such a fool.”

“Y/N, I’ve only just been informed myself, I was only devising how I should refuse the betrothal,” Thranduil took your hand in his, “I was going to tell my father everything. About us. That I should have none but you and if it displease him, I should not care. I would have you or nothing at all.”

“It cannot be. You know it cannot.” You pulled your hand away, wiping away the tears which had risen, “You’re father would have me banished.”

“Well…” Thranduil looked around desperately, “We could carry on as we have been. No one need know. We could be happy.”

“As you marry another? Marry her and father her children? And me? A dirty little secret?” Your heart was racing so fast it nearly hurt, “Could you really tell your father?”

The prince’s silence answered the question for you. Despite his show of determination, you knew that even if he confessed the whole affair, the king would have his way. You would do all a favour and solve the problem once and for all. It could end only one way and you’d rather it be without your humiliation.

“I wish you happiness,” You choked out as Thranduil’s eyes shone with pearlescent tears, “Truly.”

Before he could protest, you turned on your heels and stormed back through the doors. You retreated down the corridors and down into the sunlight, rushing past the carriage which had stopped outside the stable. A noblewoman watched you passed with her arched golden brows and shining doe-like eyes. The prince would have a fine queen indeed.

You could not help but imagine their life together as you fled. You felt like vomiting and tears blurred your vision. It would be easier to act as if you had never met the prince than to remain and watch him live with another at his side. You continued across the bridge which led through the gates of the palace and down the twisted streets, towards the endless forest.

As you broke the treeline, you slowed and struggled to catch your breath. You panted as you continued to sob, walking blindly along the paths of the Mirkwood forest. It would be best for all, for you especially, that you just disappeared.

* * *

## The Journey Back

_My Dearest Y/N,_

_I know that my love could never be shown so clearly through costly favours, nor can I speak it to you so eloquently as I should wish. For all the words I lack to do so, I hope you will accept this gift for all left unsaid. May this mare bring to you as much joy as you’ve brought unto me._

_Ever yours,  
_ _Thranduil_

You read every word scrawled across the curled parchment one at a time. Years it had taken for you to learn your letters but time was not a hard-fought commodity. The brief note was all you had left of your time in Mirkwood and despite yourself, you could not bring yourself to burn it. All you could muster was to read it over and over, hiding it beneath the wool of your tunic as you followed the endless road.

You passed through small villages, taking up work where you could for purses of gold. A restless nomad, you had honed the skills of your servitude and acquired knew ones. You were never still for long but knew you could not outrun your own heart. As much as you tried, you would not be free of the past and the scar it had left upon you.

You rolled up the parchment, tucking it away as you pulled your cloak forward over your shoulder. The tavern you lingered in was cold and musty, smelling of autumn leaves and filth. The door of the inn never ceased to swing as you sipped from your stein, pondering whether the morrow would lead east or west.

The air was filled with the scraping of stools, the clink of coins, and the thunk of cups, both full and empty. A pair of travelers traipsed in and slumped heavily over a table not far from your own. Despite their bedraggled appearance, their voices were lively and carried clearly across the barroom. You found it hard not to overhear their gossip as they sloshed their ale and chuckled.

“That mountain of dwarves…dragon…awful stuff…Well, that’s what greed gets ya…so much gold…the king…elf…left ‘em…”

You could guess the Mountain of which they spoke and the elven king who played the villain of their story. Though you knew the players well, you resisted the intrigue of the rumours. The thorn in your heart twisted a little more as you thought of the Mirkwoodian king and even the years between you could not dull the stabbing. You were weak. He had made you thus and you hated him for it.

You stood, hoping that sleep would help you forget the memories stirred, and dragged your feet towards the steep stairs of the inn. Over the years, you had heard many tales of the elven prince, now a king. From what you gathered, the bright-eyed prince had followed too closely the footsteps of his father and the thought of him as a stern, bitter king soured his memory further.

Reaching the door of your chamber, you shrugged off the dark thoughts and pushed inside, falling onto the straw pallet which served as your bed. You pulled your cloak around you like a blanket and closed your eyes, sighing deeply into the dimming evening light. The road unfurled before you without end and sleep was your only respite.

* * *

Wizards were never particularly subtle. This one especially.

The greybeard’s peculiarity had distracted you from your usual routine and you had delayed retiring for the night. There was a sense about him which intrigued even you and his sparkling eyes were set in some unnamed mission. Given your introverted nature, you could not have been the only one to notice him among the rabble of the inn.

You had sat yourself closer to the wizard, trying to see past the floppy brim of his grey hat. He spoke in a low voice with the stunted figure across from him; a dark-haired dwarf with broad shoulders and a natural scowl. Those around them none-too-subtly looked up from their steins and strained their ears to intrude upon the scene.

Your natural elvish grace allowed your to do so without being obvious, leaning back as you sniffed at the sour wine in your goblet. You had never been one for the drink, instead settling for ale or water, if clean enough. The wizard unfolded a parchment on the table and an audible groan came from the chairs of onlookers as they leaned closer to peak at its contents.

The dwarf’s jaw tensed as he sensed his audience and you unthinkingly touched the hilt of your longsword. The weapon was old and less than admirable, but it kept you safe on the road and you had learned to wield it well enough. The wizard rose suddenly as the men around him did the same and the dwarf pocketed the parchment before reaching for his own steel.

Your own blade flashed before the mob as you leaped between the mismatched pair and their foes. You batted away a dagger and poorly brandished rapier, toppling a man with a swift elbow to his nose. The wizard swept away a line of blades with his staff and the dwarf cracked a man over the head with the pommel of his greatsword.

You swung your blade in warning, the men stepping back as they held their weapons shakily. One man, braver than the rest, charged forward and you swiftly tangled your blade with his own and threw it aside, catching his scruff with your hand and tossing him over the nearest table. You brought the edge of sword up and towards the line of men, each of them slowly dissembling and retreating to the door.

A thick silence stilled the air as you watched them leave and your sense returned. You lowered your blade, closing your eyes to wonder why you had set yourself between harm and these foolish strangers.

“Ah, Thorin,” The wizard’s deep voice was like thunder amid the lull, “It seems you’re already making friends…and elf would be a valuable companion upon your quest.”

“The elves are the reason for my quest in the first place. I do not think them of much use but for deceit,” The dwarf’s voice was malicious but you could not take insult at his contempt. You recognized his name. He was the king of those your own people had forsaken.

“And I’ve no desire to join you,” You turned to him, sheathing your sword, “Alas, I cannot fathom why I just acted to foolishly.”

“The winds push us where they will,” The wizard said cryptically, “My dear, you’ve travelled far but you are exactly where you are needed.”

“My presence is but happenstance,” You insisted, “I’ll be away with the sunlight and you’ll be upon your own way.”

“Tell me then,” The wizard smiled beneath his thick beard, “If it is but chance, what compelled you to bare your steel in a fight not your own?” He tilted his head towards the dwarf, “And what would we have not if she had not, Thorin?”

Sharing your irritation with the wizard’s prophesizing, the dwarven king sighed with exasperation. Both of you stood in obstinate silence as the wizard smiled on patiently.

“How do I know she is not some elvish spy?”

“I have no place in the affairs of dwarves.”

You protested in unison with the dwarf and the wizard chuckled before he replied.

“You are in no position to refuse, Thorin,” He chided, “And I suspect the same of her. Neither of you should stray far from this village without the other. You’ve made quite a few enemies this night.”

You looked to the dwarf, exchanging a look of dismay. The wizard told it true and you could not expect the night’s events to go unchecked. You picked at the leather strap around the pommel of your sword as you considered the prospect.

“Beyond this village and no further,” You accepted dully, “I am not in the business of slaying dragons.”

* * *

You had not planned to go so far with the grisly dwarf but you had found yourself pursued as you left the village. When you had managed to confuse your trail and created a secure distance from those who followed you, there seemed little difference in parting ways. Besides, the dwarf had little sense of direction and would have been lost several times over if not for you.

Even so, he argued that you were of little help and he would be just fine without you. Thus, you let him direct your path and were lost twice before you reached the round-hilled Shire. The dusty rounds which curled around the knolly houses of the hobbiton shone pale in the moonlight and you yawned into your sleeve.

It had been more than a week since you had slept for more than an hour at a time and you had taken turns with the dwarf upon your horse. As it was, the beast was more tired than yourself. The wizard, Gandalf, said he would meet you at your destination and you wondered why he would insist upon travelling separately. Perhaps it was some clever ploy to make you get along with the dwarvish king.

Whatever it was, you cared little. You merely wanted to be able to sit down.

Recalling the directions the wizard had issued you, you subtly herded Thorin down the right path and you stopped before the round door of the house where a ruckus could be heard from within. As expected, you were the last to arrive and you did not foresee a warm welcome. If the King Under the Mountain was an omen of his people, you did not expect yourself to go much further on their journey.

A small sandy haired man opened the door, the wizard crouching behind him to welcome you in. He smiled as he saw you and you stepped inside with a shake of your head. He did not mention the promise you had made not to accompany the dwarf all the way to The Shire and you were happy he did not.

Though you would not admit it aloud, the mission allowed you a sense of purpose after a lifetime of being aimless.

The tense silence of the inn returned and you looked over to the room of dwarves sat along a dining table. Everyone stared back at you with shock and dismay. You glanced to the king, waiting for him to let the axe fall.  _Why should he defend you against those who were homeless because of your city?_  Even if you had not seen your home for long than they, it did not make you any less condemnable.

“I would not be here if it was not for Y/N,” Thorin cleared his throat, as if the admission were painful, “If she would consider, I think she may be of use on the rest of our journey…at least the wizard says so.”

You were nearly stunned by the invitation, as lousy as it was, and the dwarves chattered with each other quizzically. You picked out a few slurs reserved for your kind exclusively but there was nothing so painful as what you had already suffered. You kept your voice even and your expression passive.

“If you’d rather I’d go my own way, I would not protest,” You offered, “I have not come to wrong your people further.”

“Would another hand be so bad?” A dwarf stood among the dozen, an elder with white hair, “The wizard trusts her and she has accompanied our king this far.”

“How do we know she is not from Mirkwood? The very city which let a dragon steal our home?” A bald one stood angrily and slammed his palm on the tabletop.

“Brother, whether she is or not–”

“I am,” You confessed, silencing their argument, “I will not lie to you. I’ve not seen the city since my youth…centuries ago…a dozen or more,” Your eyes twitched as if trying to count the days, “I’ve lost count truly.”

“So why would you help us?” Another dwarf, young with a golden mane and beard wondered, “What about your people?”

“Not really my people…” You frowned, “I left because I did not belong with them…I don’t belong anywhere. And I’d understand if I did not belong among you.”

“What reason have we to distrust her then?” The blonde questioned, “She has kept my uncle from harm upon the road and she has been honest with us. She is not the elven king who allowed the dragon to sweep down upon our Mountain.”

“She is not,” A dark-haired dwarf with a floppy-eared hat agreed, “We are a small enough army as it is.”

“Mahal knows she’d be a better tracker than our king,” A rotund dwarf japed, “I say aye.”

“Me too.” “Aye.” “What’s the harm in a single elf?” The dwarves talked over each other and the king raised his hand to quiet them.

“Right then,” He turned to you, a glimmer of a smile upon his lips, “You’ve got your verdict. Come if you will, but know, I’ll be watching you.”

“And I you,” You countered with a nod, “A single elf among a horde of dwarves. I’d say I’m in greater peril than any.”

* * *

A city of elves had seemed foreign to you. Rivendell had been as unpleasant for you as it had for the dwarves. Fleeing from the elves, however, you had run into a greater foe. Two, in fact. The goblins were hardly a threat considering the orcs which had superseded them. The part, led by Azog the Defiler, had not relented in their pursuit and so you found yourself endlessly upon your feet.

The Company seemed to have little fortune along their journey. Had it not been for your elvish instincts, you would’ve been detained in Rivendell and your road cut short by your own kin. The dwarves, though they trusted your kith little more than before, had come to accept you among them. You had saved the younger Durin from falling from the shoulders of the stone giants and Ori would’ve lost an ear to a goblin’s blade had you not pulled him from its path.

Even so, you felt as displaced as you had for all those years spent upon alone. You could never be truly ingratiated with the dwarves for their hatred of your city and you could not shake the guilt which hung over you. The little you could do was to help them in returning to their home before setting out once more in search of your own.

Your long legs kept you a pace ahead of the dwarves as you fled the growling wargs and their grey-skinned riders. You glanced over your shoulder to see the half-men trailing after you and you slowed your pace so that many of them passed. Gandalf kept his lead as he guided them forward and you lagged behind Gloin, the last of the bunch.

The rusty-haired dwarf stumbled on a stone and you caught him by the collar, keeping him upright thought he grunted harshly in return. You could hear the orcs closing in on you and kept to the rear, sure that none would be harmed but yourself. A wooden gate appeared across the field and you panted behind the others as they streamed in, the appearance of a monstrous black bear driving you on.

You lifted the wooden slat which kept closed the inner doors of the unusual abode and shoved the dwarves inside, securing it from the other side as the bear rammed itself against it. You stepped back as the beast continued to scratch at the wood and turned to the breathless company.

“I thank ye for your help,” Gloin grumbled, “But next time, try not to throttle me so roughly.”

You shook your head at the half-jape and brushed back the hair which had fallen over your face. The dwarves yawned and groaned as the wizard led them to the lofts of the barn and you found a place to rest near the door. You still wondered why you had stayed so long upon this journey.

You leaned against a pillar, crossing your arms as you closed your eyes and fell into a shallow sleep. The snores of the dwarves lulled you but kept you alert and you awoke at the first stirring among the party. Bilbo rose and stumbled out of the barn, followed by Gandalf and several others. You were last to join them, ever feeling unwelcomed in the business of dwarves.

You sat at the table, of the few who did not appear comically small among the large steins. You listened haphazardly, following the conversation as you nibbled on a slice of toast. You dropped the bread as you followed the wizard’s words and nearly choked, drawing the attention of the table as you sipped desperately at your milk.

“You’re not proposing we go through Mirkwood?” You sputtered, “I know these parts well enough and I can guess at where your leading us,” You set down your stein heavily, “You’re mad to think we could ever pass through there.”

“You would know well enough,” Dwalin accused, “What is it exactly that got you exiled? Must be pretty heinous considering the morals of elves.”

“I was not–” You began defensively before catching yourself, “I left of my own accord, thank you. And I would advise you to avoid the city if you truly wish to reclaim your mountain.”

“The forest is the only way we’ll reach Erebor before Durin’s Day,” Gandalf explain, “We can avoid the city with time to spare.”

“You do not know of what you speak,” You huffed.

“But you do,” Gandalf returned, “Which is why I trust you to lead these dwarves safely through.”

“And you? Are you to leave us once more?” You tugged on the braid you had pulled forward in your anxiety, “Even I cannot promise passage through that forest. If anything, I’d be the first to face the sword if we’re caught.”

“I cannot stay, my dear,” Gandalf frowned, “You are much too cynical. Trust me, Y/N. I’ve yet to fail you.”

“Yet,” You repeated grimly, knowing there was little argument to be had, “I just hope you’re right.”

* * *

The dwarves had been gibbering since you had entered the forest. Their eyes were hazy and their skin coated with a sheen of delirium. You were the only unaffected by the woodland air and it made your way even more difficult. As you tried to guide the Company down the right path, they resisted and accused you of sabotage. And you left them to become lost, trailing behind in dejection.

So lost were you in your dark thoughts that you had been unprepared for the descent of the spiders. You had not heard of the arachnids causing havoc in the forest since you had been but an elfling and to think that they had come to prosper once more was disturbing. Awaking from the comatose of their venom, you cut through the cocoon, another sword nearly catching your own as Bilbo stood before you.

“Oh,” He was surprised as you tore away the webbing from your shoulders, “Good, I was–”

You pushed the hobbit away as a spider barely missed him and you pulled your sword loose, swinging it wildly as the creature rounded on you. You slice away two of its legs as it screeched in agony and you pierced its chest with your steel, silencing its whines. You were caught in the flurry of the spiders’ attack and lost track the hobbit and the dwarves alike.

In the haze of body, you could only discern ally and foe and you hacked down a spider before it could wrap its spindly legs around Fili. You kicked another away from you, slice through the air though your sword did not catch its mark. Before you could slay the nearest arachnid, an arrow impaled it and you turned in surprise. Kili had just been at your side, he could not have possibly stuck from that angle.

All at once, the breath left your body and you staggered, using your sword to keep yourself upright. Before you stood an elf with silver blond hair leading a party of a dozen Mirkwoodian rangers. For a moment, he had appeared to you as the princeling you had loved so long ago. But the squareness of his jaw and the delicate line of his brow assured you otherwise. It was not Thranduil but you could guess at the relation.

Your sword was taken from you easily as the heated exchange between dwarf and elf jumbled together in your mind. Bofur nudged you into motion as the Company was forced to surrender its arms and you tried to regain your senses. You could only stare at the blonde head of the prince as he walked ahead of you. He had to be the prince, though not the one you had known.

“Oi, what’s wrong with you, lass?” Dwalin hissed and you looked to him numbly as your head spun at the sight of Mirkwood’s gates, “You look gutted.”

“I can’t be here,” You muttered senselessly, staring up at the palace, “I can’t be here.”

* * *

## Home

You sat in your cell, your hair hanging over your face as you hung your head weakly. You had been paralyzed at the thought of facing Thranduil again and feared he would chance a stroll in the dungeons and recognize you. Thorin had been the only taken to see the elven king and he had returned uttering khuzdul curses under his breath. Your hands hadn’t stop trembling since you had entered the palace and you had not slept in the days since your capture.

The dwarves whispered of an escape, which you knew to be a futile hope, and you could not find your voice to argue thus. The prince, his silver hair so much like his fathers, watched the auburn-haired maiden closely as she spoke with Kili through the bars of the door. During which, you observed him and wondered if his father was as you remembered.

 _How could he be?_  He had married and been widowed. Fathered a child and fought in wars. There were eons between you and it would be laughable that he should recall the commoner he had foolishly been infatuated with in his youth.

Nonetheless, the restless stirring of the dwarves fueled your apprehension. You were a coward to hide in your cell and allow them to wallow beside you. You had sentence yourself to desolation long ago but you had no right in keeping the Company from their homecoming. Perhaps he would know you and he would find some sliver of empathy within him. Perhaps you could move him and free the dwarves. Perhaps…

“Why do you stare so?” The silver-haired prince stopped behind your bars, causing you to flinch in surprise, “It’s quite irksome, you know?”

“I…” You looked up, fighting to still your fidgeting hands, “Sorry…I, uh, just…” You swallowed and looked down the corridor to Thorin’s cell where he leaned against the bars, growling at the back of the elven prince, “Your father, Thranduil?”

“He is my father,” He affirmed evenly.

“I know him…or I did,” You slowly latched onto the bars of the cell and pulled yourself to your feet, “Could you arrange an audience with him?”

“For you? Some vagrant elf who travels with dwarves?” He nearly scoffed as he looked you up and down, “How could you know my father?”

“I just…” You tried to think of how you could convince him.

You felt around frantically beneath your tunic, unable to recall if they had stripped you of your entire person. Your fingers closed around the parchment and you pulled out the note. You held it through the bars, the curly letters of Thranduil’s name catching the dim lantern light, and the prince took it, reading it closely.

“Show it to him, please,” You begged, “Please.”

“Show him yourself,” The prince’s eyes darkened as he took a key from his belt, “That’s his script…I only wonder at the origin of this letter.”

He opened the door and ushered you out, the dwarves watching in grim silence as you were escorted down the corridor. Your hands were shaking uncontrollably as the prince gave you back the note and you tried not to crumple it in your distress. As you arrived at the doors of the throne room, your hand stilled along with your heart and you found the same strength which had kept you from dissembling many times before.

The doors opened and the prince led you through.

“Father,” He called to the figure draped lazily across the ancient throne, the silver head did not move as they king remained undisturbed, “This elf claims to know you. The one who travels with those brutish creatures in our dungeon.”

“Oh, does she–” The king looked over as he spoke, his voice dying in the air as he stood suddenly.

His eyes were set upon you as his mouth fell slightly open and he seemed to waver before catching his balance. Silence overcame the chamber, the warmth of the braziers suddenly turned icy and you dared to look directly at Thranduil, trapped in a tableau. He slowly descended the steps of his throne and only feet away from you, trying to look closer as if he could not believe your existence.

“Y/N,” His voice cracked and he gulped, “How…” He looked to his son and cleared throat, “Go.”

“Yes, father,” The prince looked confusedly between his father and you but retreated without protest.

You listened to the doors close and locked your knees, afraid that your legs would crumble beneath you.

“You’ve come back,” He stated, reaching out a hand as if to touch you but rescinding it quickly, “But why did you leave?”

“You know why,” You exhaled through a shudder, “You married her. Had a son, I see…He looks like you. I almost thought—Well I’ve not come to retrace the past.”

“Yes, why have you come?” He inquired, a venom underlined his tone which you had never heard before, “With those dwarves?” He said incredulous, “Is that what you’re doing? Trying to make me hate you? Have you waited so long to have your vengeance?”

“Vengeance?” Your echoed, “I never…I do not hate you, my prince.”

“Thranduil!” He nearly shouted, his voice thunderous as it filled the chamber, “I told you to call me Thranduil.” He turned away from you, his robes storming around his legs, “I loved you, Y/N. I told my father as much but I could not find you. I was going to take you and–”

“Mirkwood needed a prince more than me,” You felt tears pricking at your eyes and you sniffed them back, “As I said, I am not here to speak of what was. Of what could have been.”

“I know why you’ve come and I shall give you the same answer I gave Oakenshield,” He approached his throne and spun back to face you, “I will not allow you to reawaken that dragon.”

“You’ve changed,” You muttered without thinking.

“How would you know?” He challenged, “You  _left_  me.”

“I did what you needed of me,” You shrugged and looked away, holding back the tears.

“Go,” He breather, “Now.”

You bowed and turned away from him, walking away as the first tear fell. It was harder to leave him a second time. You pushed through the doors and met a guard on the other side who took you by the arm and led you back towards the dungeons. You barely recalled how you came to lay curled up on the cell floor but you were resigned to remain their forever.

* * *

If it had not been for Bilbo, you would have never left the cell. Even after he had unlocked your door and told you to hurry, you had not moved.  _Why had you come so far to be helpless once more?_ Gandalf had said there was some reason in your joining the dwarves but you had done nothing for them. You had failed to guide them through Mirkwood forest and you had only managed to anger the elven king.

You had followed the dwarves in a haze but by the time you were sitting on the unfamiliar barge, you had found some of your previous composure. The bargeman welcomed you into his modest home and you smiled at his curious daughters as they marveled at your pointed ears and long hair. You offered to give them their own braids and wondered what it would have been like to have had children of your own.

The dwarves were infuriated and so close to their prize, they were growing desperate. All that Bard could offer were fishing hooks and rusted tools and the Company grumbled that it would fare poorly against Smaug. You added little to the argument and listened passively as tempers mounted.

“And what are you doing?” Thorin turned on you, “What happened back there with the elven king? Was he angry you let us get this far?”

“It’s none of your business,” You retorted, “I tried to get us free, not that you’d believe me.”

“You knew him though,” Dwalin asserted, “I heard you say so.”

“I never claimed not to.”

“Aye, but you didn’t say as much,” Gloin added, “Then you spend a week huddled on the floor. You more than know him, I’d say.”

“I’ve not done anything against you. Ever,” You stood, “Any of you. I’ve put myself in harm’s way for every single one of you and never asked for anything in return. I have devoted myself to helping you reclaim your home and I begged not to go through Mirkwood. I never wanted to go home!” Your voice had risen dangerously, “It’s not my home anyway…it seems I don’t belong anywhere.”

“You belong with us,” Fili spoke up, pulling himself away from his sickly brother, “We would never have gotten this far without you. At least I can see that.”

“And I,” Balin intoned, “Thorin, you’re foolish to accuse her so. You know as well as any that she’s been as loyal, if not more, than any of us. I don’t see an elf,” He set his hand on your elbow, unable to reach your shoulder, “I see a friend. I see family,” He smiled up at you warmly, “I see a soul more lost than us.”

“If you want me to go, I’ll go,” You offered, “But I would like to stay and see you to your Mountain. For once, I’d like to see something through in my life.”

“Balin’s right. I’ve no reason to turn you away,” Thorin accepted, “I’d never have made it out of that tavern without you…and we need all the help we can get if we’re to face a dragon,” He looked around at his men, “To begin with, we’ll need better weapons.”

* * *

The orcs had overrun Dale and you found yourself swept up in the chaos. The battle had been an impossible victory all along but with the arrival of Azog, it had grown entirely insurmountable. The elves had turned their weapons to protect the humans just evacuated from Laketown and screams sound from along the stone streets.

Men with scythes and pitchforks fended off the wild orcs and the elves, with their shining silver, cut down the enemy with precision. Even so, it was bedlam, your own blade barely fast enough to keep your head intact. You ducked under the axe of another orc, pinned against the stone of house as another barreled in your direction.

_Had you come so far to be cut down as the dwarves lost the mountain they had only just reclaimed? Was your life to simply be one downfall after the other?_

You slid away from the next parry and delivered one of your own, your sword become caught in the leather armor of the orc. You heard the grunt of another approaching from your rear as you rolled across the corpse of the one you had just fell, releasing the caught hilt of your weapon. The foe was less than it had been but alone a single street, you were vulnerable to being overrun.

You grabbed the handle of the axe dropped by the slain orc and swung it in a full circle, smashing the orc on the rebound. Blood spouted from his mouth and he screeched terribly as he fell with the rest. Running lightly atop the body of orcs, you continued down the street, the screams and sound of death fading.  _Were you fleeing the battle or was it simply coming to an end?_

A horn, this one different from that which marked the arrival of the orcs, had sounded from Ravenhill. You nearly stumbled on the next street, the bodies of elves, human, and orcs guiding your path. It had grown eerily quiet in the city and a retreat seemed to be taking place. A stampede of footsteps echoed towards the gates and you caught an elf as he strolled between the corpses, seemingly unconcerned with fighting.

“What is happening?” You asked, receiving a quizzical look from the finely-armoured soldier.

“The orcs have called their forces back,” He explained, “At least, I would surmise as much. The enemy flees as quickly as they arrived.”

You nodded and kept upon your path, the elf distracting himself with searching the bodies for salvageable wares. The inexorable cruelty of war seemed never to end. You had only ever fought for your own survival, never had you seen men, women, and children slain so indiscriminately. A mountain was barely worth this, less so when you were still without a home of your own.

You walked blindly through the streets, trying not to think of the death which had swallowed you whole. Of the blood on your hands and that pooling at your feet. You couldn’t figure out why you had come so far. _Why had you not kept on wandering?_  How stupid you had been back in that tavern.

 _How had you deluded yourself that you had any purpose by that of a vagabond?_ You were born common and you would remain thus, lost in the fold of time. You had but added your hand to the great slaughter of innocent. You hadn’t saved anyone but yourself.

You dropped the axe you had forgot was in your hand and did not think of the sword you had left lodged in the torso of an orc. The street opened before you and you walked across the square, black blood trickling across the stones. Your foot caught on a body and you stumbled. You scraped your elbows as you tried to catch yourself and you sprawled across the ground, letting go of all the strength you had left in you.

You stayed slumped across the stone, your hair a curtain around your head as you rested your cheek on your arm. You closed your eyes and prayed that it had all been some wicked dream. You did not move, you did not cry, you barely breathed. You just wanted it to be over.

Even as you heard armored feet approaching you, the steps breaking into a sprint you did not flinch. “Y/N,” You were turned over as the figure knelt beside you, “Y/N?”

You opened your eyes and looked up at the blond elf bent over you, “Thranduil?”

“Y/N,” He breathed in relief, “I thought—” He gulped and his eyes glistened, “What in the world are you doing down here?”

“I’m tired…” You made no move to rise.

Thranduil pulled you closer without a word so that you were cradled against him, your cheek against his cold armor. He brought his hand up to stroke the tangled, blood-stained strands of your hair. You felt his nose against your scalp as he inhaled your scent.

“I never stopped loving you,” He said, his breath warm across your hair, “Ever.”

“And I never stopped running,” You confessed, “What a fool I was.”

“No more foolish than I,” He brought his fingers across your cheek and under your chin, nudging your head back to look at him, “I’ve only ever pushed away those who tried to love me. My own son, even.”

“I wish I could go back,” You smiled as tears stung your eyes, “I would have been your secret. I’d do it all again. I’d watch you love another woman just to be near you.”

“You can go back,” He rubbed his thumb across your chin, “Just stay.”

You reached up to place your hand behind his head, tangling your fingers in his silky hair and pulling him close. He hugged you to him as your lips met and your salty tears mixed with his. Perhaps you could do it all again. All you had to do was stop running.


End file.
